


a woman's greatest weapon

by merrymegtargaryen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Do not repost, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen
Summary: "Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The greatest one's between your legs. Learn how to use it."





	a woman's greatest weapon

**Author's Note:**

> From the asoiafrarepair prompts: Cersei x Sansa: Cersei decides to teach Sansa to use her "weapon", but they like it more than either bargained for.

The little dove looks up at her with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei likes that.

“Most men like to feel in control,” she tells the little dove, straddling the younger woman’s hips and pressing her wrists into the bed. “They like to feel strong. They want you to be weak and submissive.” She snaps her hips against Sansa’s, making the other woman gasp and blush. “You can use that weakness to your advantage. Make it your strength.”

“H-how?” Sansa asks, trembling. 

“There are many ways. You can play the part of the modest bride unskilled in the art of pleasure. Make them believe that they awaken something deep and primal in you, that you’ve never had anything as good as what they’re giving you.”

Sansa’s face is nearly as red as her hair. Cersei strokes her cheek, pushing back a piece of hair. 

“Or you can fight them and slowly give in. Make them think that they’re overpowering you, that despite yourself, you can’t help giving yourself to them.” She sits back. “Or you can be upfront with your power. Men can rut into anything they put their mind to, but you aren’t just anyone or anything. You’re Sansa Stark, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She flips them over so that it’s Sansa who straddles her. The younger woman is awkward and uncertain, and Cersei slides her hands up Sansa’s belly and gently squeezes her breasts. The gesture makes Sansa bite her lip, warmth radiating from her center.

“Every man is different,” Cersei goes on. “You only have to learn what they want.”

“What...what does Joffrey want?” Sansa asks, licking her lips. 

“I imagine what Joffrey wants changes as often as his wardrobe,” Cersei says bluntly. “He’ll keep you on your toes...and on your knees. But as long as you know how to please him, it shouldn’t matter.”

“How do I? Please him?”

“You can use your hand,” Cersei says, using her own to palm the little dove through her skirts. Sansa’s mouth falls open, her eyes going dark. After a long moment, Cersei draws her hand away, drawing a protesting noise from Sansa. “But most men have been using their hands their whole lives, and they can do it better than we can. So you must use your mouth.” She sits up, keeping Sansa in her lap. She traces the younger woman’s soft pink lips...and then slides two fingers inside. 

Sansa starts and gags at the intrusion, but Cersei keeps her fingers in her mouth, looking intently at the younger woman. 

“A cock will be bigger than my two fingers, little dove. Breathe through your nose, and think about something sweet.” 

The gagging stops as Sansa breathes deeply through her nose. 

“That’s a good girl,” Cersei murmurs. “Don’t let your teeth touch him, and suck as if it is covered in honey.”

As Sansa obediently begins to suck, Cersei cannot help but feel an urgent stirring between her legs. She shifts her hips, pressing her center to Sansa’s to relieve the pressure. 

“Use your tongue,” she urges. “You want him to believe you like it.”

Sansa throws herself into her task, sucking and licking and moaning in feigned pleasure. 

“Good girl,” Cersei praises. “You’re a fast learner, little dove.” When she withdraws her fingers, Sansa’s lips are red and wet. Cersei is seized with the desire to kiss her, so she does. The little dove tastes so sweet, almost like lemoncakes. She kisses back, tentatively at first, but she grows surer with each passing moment. 

When Cersei finally pulls back, she knows that she is going to have the Stark girl. 

“Lie back,” she commands. “And take off your dress.”

Sansa scrambles to obey, trembling fingers undoing the clasps of her gown. She shrugs out of the pink silk, breathing hard as she lies back. She’s so sweet--a maid, her flower not yet plucked. Technically, Joffrey will be the first to pluck it--but Cersei will be the first to touch that flower. She pushes Sansa’s shift up her legs, revealing snow-white stockings tied with silky blue ribbon. Her instinct is to remove the stockings--but after a moment’s consideration, she decides to leave them. Her hand drifts up Sansa’s slim white leg, brushing past the tangle of coarse hair before finding a soft, warm wetness. And she is wet--she’s clearly been as eager for this as Cersei has. Her breath is coming hard, her chest rising and falling as she watches Cersei with eyes blown wide. 

“This is what men want,” she confesses, sliding the two fingers that went into Sansa’s mouth into her center. 

Sansa’s eyes roll back in her head, a moan slipping from her lips. 

“They want you to look exactly as you do now--like you’ve never experienced this before. They want to ruin you for any other man.” She slides her fingers in and out, and she doesn’t miss the way Sansa clings to her, desperate for more friction. “Do you want to learn something else, little dove?”

Sansa nods wordlessly.

Cersei touches the little hard place, and Sansa cries out. 

“Most men have no idea what this is or what it does,” she confides. “Joffrey certainly will not.” Her voice turns inexplicably tender. “But I will take care of you, little dove.”

“Please,” Sansa whimpers. 

Cersei curls her fingers inside Sansa at the same moment she presses the hard place. Sansa writhes on the bed, her body twisting as she grapples with pleasure.

“Would that I were a man,” Cersei says softly. It isn’t the first time she’s wished it--but now, watching Sansa, she feels what she can only think is a masculine sort of possessiveness, the desire to ruin her for any other man...including her own son. 

_ He will never be able to pleasure her the way I can. He will not want to. But I… _

Her other hand snakes down, underneath her layers of crimson velvet and cloth-of-gold before she finds her own soft, warm wetness. She’s so very slick, and the feel of Sansa around her fingers makes her slicker still. She touches and curls and murmurs encouragement, and when she feels Sansa tighten around her, her own release is quick to follow. 

Feeling more satisfied than she has in a long time, Cersei sinks to the bed, resting on one elbow. Sansa’s lily-white chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her legs trembling. 

“Well, little dove?” Cersei murmurs.

Sansa looks at her, a slow smile taking over her face. “I’m afraid I’m a slow learner, Your Grace--could you show me again?”

Cersei smiles back. “Gladly.”

  
  



End file.
